Back to Blogland Part 1

Miss me?

I doubt it. Maybe. Maybe you did miss me. Checked my page every other day hoping for new news, new developments in this busy old life of mine. Probably not.

Do you like this photo? It's me! Betty in action after a couple of Caprihinas (yum!) in Wembely - not my hometown in Northwest London, but a British bar in Southern Italy! Most of my hiatus has been spent in the Bay of Naples as part of my college's Classics and Italian class trip. Overall I've had a really good time even though I've lost my mobile (I've a temporary one, although the whole effect has been liberating and isolating as a whole) and had chocolate melt in my bag and needs to be washed. From Monday 3 April until Saturday the 8th was spent with good old Ric who fixed up my camera so I could take more pictures, looked after me (although I smoked - twice!) and carried my bags when I let him. The trip would have been unbearable without him. We went to Rome were we visited the forum and the Colesseum. Heres the first picture I took of the trip:

Thats how Italy looked for most of the time: pure blue and rustic, and very Italian. The Italians weren't very friendly, unfortunately. Most of the street people stared at my boobs, but it may have been because I was one of the 4 black people I saw on the trip, and the darkest of those. I don't think the Italians are racist (Rics opinions differ...) just pervy! Most of the time it was "Sex, no beach, ah?" whenever I ordered Sex on the Beach. Where did we go? Pompeii, Paestum, some other Vesuvius town (that still has original glass!!!) with Hercules in the title. Ric, being Wonder Boy was my lecturer for the trip, with his extensive knowledge on Etruscans and Roman architecture and what was real and what was not and periods...Took tons of pictures, but I'm setting up a flickr account for the pictures without my full face in it that all can revel in my skilllz. And, during the day I satisfied the inner classical student, at night me and Ric went out with the other students in our year (only 4 of us) and went out drinking, having a laugh, negotiating dangerous roads because the Italians really are crazy-ass drivers - they drive out of nowhere and it takes a special sort of pedestrian to sort it out.

I loved going on walks (well...my group were always faster than me) up the streets looking for supermarkets that were small and smelt of sweet fruit. It just seemed more natural that way. And we were by the sea so in the morning you could smell it and it was wonderful even though you could never find your way down there...Some more pictures:

When I got back home, I was physically and mentally exhausted. Physically because I climbed a mountain, although dying on the way it was one of the best things I've done. Mentally because I was cutting a lot and couldn't figure out why. And because I was with Ric a lot and wanted to get deeper with him I wrote him a letter, telling him how long I've been doing it and why. I'm never so good at letters and so writing him a letter about my cutting when I feeling more vulnerable than usual was very scary. But I gave it to him. At the airport when we reached the departures hall he stalked off and left the A2s and me, confused. After buying our chocolate (and briefly losing my passport. My bad luck had been rife during this trip!) When we found him he looked more tired and distressed than usual and he was rubbing his eyes and hair. When we got a quick private moment he told me he'd read the whole thing. Should I make the connection? I don't know. All I remember of the letter is the first line - This is not a happy letter...

People flooded onto the plane and we on the opposite ends so I couldn't say anything else which was driving me mad. I ended up spilling hot tea on myself and because I couldn't clean myself up as I was stuck at the end almost sent me into shock. (no major burns, though - don't worry!) Took more pictures on the plane... But when we finally flew into England, with all the small lights and the nighttime coast, flying over Clapham and Twickenham stadium, not only did I feel at home, but my head was about to burst because I had a cold and the pressure was bloody immense. Ric cheered me up with paper aeroplanes (which hit others hilariously) and on the bus to the terminal after the wind whipped my skirt up. He had no questions - had nothing else to say really but we were good. We were better than good. When I finally found a payphone and talked to Dad after a week I almost cried, but the waterworks really sprang up when me and Ric parted ways - he was taking the train, I had a Dad to pick me up. He didn't see me cry, thank God, but I was lost and tired I really did feel lost without him helping me out. What had he done to me, the miserable sod?! (His girl wasn't talking to him - for no reason, crazy bitch)

Sigh...I was home now. Dad was, and is quite ill with the flu. He didn't go to the doctors and now he got this racking 'smokers' cough for the next few months apparently. He was coughing up blood and everything, but refused to get help because the house was messy, which I believe reflects parents the world over, right? Aaargh! It was only because the woman of the house - me - was off ignoring Italian men all week. My brother proved himself worthy against rude bus drivers and eating Whoppers and powder mash fries in front of Match of the Day (it was snowing in April!!) I felt right at home, exceptionally tired. And my bed? Just right. Globetrotting is tough shit! :)